Xenophon's Revenge
by mossley
Summary: Things get hairy when Grissom gives Sara a hand. A challenge fic issued by Marlou. First and last lines provided, 2500word limit. A bit of harmless fluff.


**Xenophon's Revenge  
Summary: **Things get hairy when Grissom gives Sara a hand.**  
A/N: **A challenge from Marlou, who supplied the opening and closing lines of the story, and imposed a 2,500-word limit. A bit of fluff – but the harmless type.**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** If I owned the rights of the characters, would I be doing this to them?

* * *

"You might want to stop touching that."

Her hand freezing, Sara turned toward David, an eyebrow rising quizzically. The warning sounded dire, but his watery eyes and fluid sniffles ruined the effect.

"It's dangerous," he said, blowing his nose loudly.

A devout animal lover, she smiled as he hunted his pockets for more tissues. David's well-known allergies made him automatically wary around furry creatures.

"It's not an it. It's a _…_," she said, cocking her head as she tried to determine the sex of the humongous fur ball sitting on top of their elderly corpse. Seeing nothing to indicate gender, she settled on, "It's a cat."

"Hellcat," he countered. "Do you have any Benadryl?"

"No, sorry," Sara said, starting to smile at David's situation, but it faded when he took his hand out of his pocket, revealing the bloodstains on his cuff. Her eyes moved up his arm, seeing the shredded material on the inside of both his jacket and shirt. Swinging her head around, she focused on her own fingers just millimeters above the cat's ears.

Dropping her gaze, she noticed the four sets of claws extending from the paws. Four sets of very long claws, as befitted a creature of its magnitude. The cat eyed her with a look clearly indicating that it was aware of the fact that its genetic heritage included mammoth-hunting cave lions, and while it may be somewhat smaller than those prehistoric cats, she was also considerably smaller than a mastodon.

For someone as fond of animals as she, it was a troubling position. Pets were better than humans were in many regards; they didn't betray you, and they returned affection with unconditional love. This one looked like it would love to shred her to bits or have her as an entrée. Or both.

As she considered the situation, the animal started making a noise that might be called a purr by a generous person, but it reminded Sara of a ticking time bomb. She withdrew her hand slowly, and the cat's eyes followed her fingers hungrily. That thought brought up a disturbing image, but she didn't see any bite marks on the old woman.

"How long would you say Mrs. Eliot's been dead?" she asked.

"Not sure. The beast won't let me anywhere near her. I'd guess no more than a day or so, but don't hold me to it."

"Animal control?"

"On the way."

"Good," she said with a frown. They needed to examine the body and get it to the morgue, but the cat had other ideas. She turned her attention to their surroundings, scanning the room professionally. Nothing seemed out of place, and there was a silver tea service in sight on the table. "Probably not robbery."

"There's some blood under her head," David pointed out, scurrying backwards when the cat focused on his outstretched fingers.

Sara got up slowly, taking a series of photographs as they waited for Animal Control. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she knew the fur ball was tracking her every move. Finishing with her preliminary work, she turned to stare at the cat, and it stared back. She tried to ignore the glint in its eyes, and the decadent way the beast licked its chops.

David moved beside her, and they shared a sideways look. "Is that thing really a house cat?" he asked doubtfully.

"I think so. Maybe a Maine Coon."

"I was thinking mountain lion."

She started to make a quip, but the cat picked that moment to yawn, exposing what she considered an excess of feline dentition. After a beat, she gave her head a shake. "I don't think mountain lions come in orange and white patterns, or have really fluffy tails."

"Well, I've never seen a house cat you could saddle," he said, sneezing loudly. The cat glared at him. "I think I'll go find some Benadryl."

Before he could escape, Grissom passed under the police tape at the front door and called out to them. Walking gingerly around the edge of the room, he asked them why the body was still there, but his attention was solely on her.

"We're waiting for Animal Control," Sara said.

Peering over the top of his glasses, he shot her an indulgent look and shook his head slightly. Before she had time to warn him, he picked up the cat, letting out a huff of air as he stood back up.

"You're a big fella, aren't you?" he cooed softly.

David turned to Sara with a horrified expression. Grissom held the cat to his chest, but the back legs of the beast reached nearly to his knees. Neither dared breath as he carried the cat to a sofa in the next room and set it down gently. "Good fella," he said, petting it on top of its head.

Then it exploded.

Apparently against the laws of physics, the cat launched itself at Grissom, landing waist high and circumnavigating his torso like a feline Magellan. He reached down to push at the furry belt enclosing him, but he pulled back his bloody hand with a wail.

They ran to help him at the same time Sophia entered with her gun drawn. Normally Sara wouldn't mind sharing Grissom with a cat, but this one seemed intent on not returning him in working condition. The presence of three new threats caused the cat to hiss at them, shifting position to free a paw, which it batted menacingly in their direction.

Unfortunately for Grissom, this new position involved the cat digging into his upper legs with the three remaining sets of long claws. Sara saw his face paling and eyes watering as he yelled at them to stand back. With remarkable control, he backtracked out of the house with his injured hand stuck under his arm to prevent his blood from contaminating the scene.

His three colleagues followed in a mild daze, sharing shocked expressions when the milling crowd outside panicked.

"Oh, my God! Xenophon's loose!"

Mothers grabbed children protectively, and adults near the police line clamored as Grissom came closer. Fueled by the mob's fear, the police drew their weapons, but no one knew how to help him. Finally, a brave neighbor advanced, dragging his garden hose behind him. Sara noted he also carried a trash can lid slung like a shield over his arm.

The neighbor turned on the hose, aiming at Grissom's groin. The watery assault managed to dislodge Xenophon, but it sent him climbing up his reluctant perch's chest, wrapping its front paws around his head. Sara ran to help, but a fast-thinking police officer had started their victim's hose as well. Facing a two-sided attack, Xenophon perched on top of Grissom's head with a bloodcurdling cry. He surveyed the scene like a general from old, ran in a tight circle and then dove into the crowd.

People started running away, but not before a horrified yowl rang out. The crowd parted as a St. Bernard dashed forward, Xenophon firmly attached to his back. The dog's owner followed along, unable to stop the frightened beast and afraid to get too close to the waterlogged cat.

Sara watched in fascinated horror as the cat bent down to the dog's head, hissing in its ear like a crazed horse whisperer. Despite wild twists, dashes through a rose hedge and jumps over a sprinkler, Xenophon held on through the demented steeplechase. She swore the cat leaned to the side, directing the dog away from the hemlocks and toward a young oak tree.

The dog finally ran in a circle around the tree, its orbits becoming smaller as its leash wound around the trunk. When it finally jerked to a halt as it collided with its screeching owner, Xenophon jumped into the tree, sending a flock of birds fleeing in abject terror.

As the cries of the birds died down, an unearthly silence settled on the scene. Bashful officers conspicuously began to holster their weapons. Unable to contain herself, Sara started to laugh as heads poked out of the relative safety of trash bins, behind cars and from a koi pond. Chortling quietly, she smiled at Grissom, but his hurt expression stopped her short.

"Griss," she called softly, but he headed to his Denali and left.

Letting out a sigh, she watched him drive off. She hadn't been laughing at him, but she knew the incident mortified him. She hadn't meant to add to his embarrassment, but it had to seem that way to him. Heading back to the scene, she tried to think of a way to apologize while she and David quickly processed the body before Xenophon returned.

Later that morning, she parked outside Grissom's townhouse and drank her coffee. He had never returned to work, having called Catherine to say he was heading home early. The news of the incident traveled quickly, and people begged her for first-hand details when she made it back to the lab.

Instead of supplying information on his embarrassment, she made them aware that a ninety-four-year-old woman was dead, and they didn't know why yet. Her curt manner made it clear no interesting tidbits would come from her.

She just wondered if Grissom would appreciate it.

Letting herself in, she listened carefully. A faint noise from the bathroom caught her attention, and she headed that way. She found him standing in his boxers putting away a bottle of disinfectant. A pile of clothes lay on the floor, and she winced when she saw the spots of blood decorating his undershirt.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"Never better," he answered brusquely.

_Oh, shit._

"You know I wasn't laughing at you, don't you?" She moved from her post by the doorframe when he didn't answer. "I wasn't. I'd never hurt you."

He glanced into the mirror, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I wouldn't," she repeated, this time moving to his side. "You mean too much to me. I wouldn't throw it away over something like this, but I _…_ damn it, Grissom. It was funny as hell to watch."

"Not to experience."

"Griss," she said, her tender tone changing to an angry curse when her cell phone rang. Fishing it out of her bag, she rested a hand on his shoulder as she talked. Distractedly, she grabbed a washcloth and gingerly wiped away a spot of blood he had missed on his back.

"Thanks, David," she said as she hung up, placing the phone in her bag and setting them on the counter. "Sit down."

"I'm fine," he said moodily, but her expression reminded him too much of Xenophon, so he sat on the edge of the tub without another word.

Rinsing out the washcloth, she knelt before him, carefully wiping at the multitude of tiny wounds on his chest and arms. She kept her motions slow, never applying more pressure than was needed. Concentrating on her task, she didn't notice the change in his breathing when she moved closer between his legs.

"Mrs. Eliot died of a stroke," she told him as she worked. "She hit her head when she fell. That explains the blood."

"Hmmph."

"David said that Animal Control got Xenophon from the tree and talked to some of the people there. Mrs. Eliot saved him when he was a kitten. Some neighborhood bullies were abusing him. Ever since then, he never trusted another person but her."

"Hmmph."

Sara raised an eyebrow; he didn't sound upset, but his muscles were tensing. She dabbed the washcloth over his belly before rinsing it out again. Going back to work, her lips twitched as the reason for his discomfort became obvious.

"I see Xenophon didn't do any damage to your, uhm, goods," she said, running the cloth sensuously over his thighs. After all their time together, she was still amazed by how much he desired her. If nothing else, it served to distract him from his earlier embarrassment.

"Damn thing better not."

"It wasn't his fault," Sara insisted, the animal lover in her battling with her desire to side with her lover. She tossed the cloth into the tub, her fingers tracing over his upper legs in a zigzag pattern to avoid the scratches. "He was protecting the one person who ever loved him."

"I can understand that," Grissom said, his hands winding in her hair. He grip tightened when she placed a soft kiss on his belly, her tongue leisurely running over his flesh. She leaned back to smile at him as her fingers slid under the leg bands of his boxers.

"Ready to go to bed?" she asked innocently.

He stood up quickly, pulling her along with him. His arms drew her close, kissing her deeply. He let out a groan when her fingers accidentally brushed against a nasty scratch on his flank.

"You'll have to be gentle with me," he whispered in her ear.

"Aren't I always?"

"No." His eyebrows wiggled salaciously before he captured her lips again.

Chuckling lightly, she returned the kiss, paying more attention to where her hands roamed. Taking his hand in hers, she stepped over his discarded clothing. Unable to resist one last joke, she faced him with her best poker face.

"You know, Xenophon is going to need a new home."

Grissom stared at her for a long moment in confusion.

"I'd love to have a pet. Well, one that has fur."

His eyes slowly opened in horror and he started to move his head from side to side rapidly, even before his mouth could operate. "No," he croaked repeatedly.

"Just kidding," she said, giggling when he mock-growled and cornered her against the bathroom counter. Her laughs grew louder as he hissed between kisses, biting her neck softly and rubbing his face against her skin. Half-carrying, half-dragging, he led her back to his bed, neither noticing her purse fall to the floor.

The bag lay discarded on the floor, a cell phone next to it.

* * *

**A/N II:** If you're not familiar with Maine Coons, Google "why the dog left home".

**A/N III:** No animals were hurt in the production of this story.


End file.
